


breathe you until I'm numb

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: “Is this what you needed?” Thiago asked again, soft between soft kisses.“Yes.”





	breathe you until I'm numb

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Beach Slang's Filthy Luck

 

There’s something about a hotel corridor after dark that gives everything a feeling of unreality. The lights are too bright and there are no windows, just rows of numbers and faded carpet. The team had the whole floor to themselves and even now, Neymar could hear distant samba music through the walls but couldn’t make out enough of the melody to tell who was playing it. 

 

He’d left his room in just his socks, padding out onto the soft carpet and closing the door on Phil, already asleep, wrinkles smoothed out by pleasant dreams. It was boring without his roommate and he didn’t want to wake him up just because he felt unsettled. If it were five years ago, then maybe, but both he and Phil were different people now.

 

Neymar touched the phone in his back pocket reflexively. He’d left the other two behind, but leaving the room without one felt worse than going out naked. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he looked at the numbers on the doors, trying to connect them to teammates. It’d be easier if the rooms were their shirt numbers. He’d have to remember mentioning it to the assistant coach tomorrow. Maybe he could make something happen. Probably not, but nothing ever came if you didn’t remember to ask for it.

 

In the end, he didn’t have to search for long. The door he was looking for was propped ajar, the light spilling out considerably warmer than the harsh hallway lights. 

 

Thiago looked up when Neymar knocked on the door. He was laid out on the bed, propped up by a few pillows and reading a book.

 

“Come on in,” he said, and Neymar did, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

 

Neymar lost his nerve at the sound, standing awkwardly in the little hallway until a warm smile painted its way slowly across Thiago’s face. He put his book aside and raised his arm, and that was all the invitation Neymar needed. He stepped across the room and laid out on the bed next to Thiago, under his arm, which came to rest proprietary around his shoulders. 

 

“Is Fernandinho not here tonight?” Neymar asked, quietly. Something about the moment lent itself to whispering, and he could feel Thiago’s chest rumble in a laugh.

 

“With Marcelo, I think,” Thiago said. He pressed a soft fond kiss to Neymar’s hair. Neymar curled in closer to his chest and sighed, settling.

 

“Is something wrong?” Thiago asked, softly, so softly that Neymar barely heard him. He shook his head, pressing his lips to the edge of Thiago’s collarbone. 

 

“Just restless,” Neymar told him, even though that didn’t even come close to describing the knot of feelings twisting in his chest. Thiago hummed softly but didn’t ask, just shifted, so Neymar was laying fully across his side, mouth on Thiago’s collarbone, and hand over his heart.

 

Neymar was the one that broke the silence. “Is it weird, being back in Moscow?”

 

“Why?” Thiago asked, and Neymar could feel the vibrations of it under his palm.

 

“Because you almost died here,” Neymar said, frowning because to him it seemed like an obvious thing to ask.

 

“Maybe a little,” Thiago said, smile in his voice. “I was very young then.”

 

“If I almost died, it would be weird for me to be where it almost happened,” Neymar declared, raising himself up on his elbows to look down at Thiago, shadowed in the lamp-light.

 

Thiago smiled indulgently at him. “Would it be weird for you, being back in Fortaleza?” he asked.

 

Neymar frowned. “Not really. I went there this summer. But I didn’t almost die there,” he said.

 

“But you almost had to stop playing football,” Thiago said, ‘and that’s almost the same thing’, he didn’t say, but Neymar heard it anyway. It warmed his chest in a way that had nothing to do with Thiago slowly running his hand up his back.

 

“But I didn’t,” he said, “I’m alright now.”

 

Thiago smiled at him. “You are,” he agreed.

 

Neymar grinned at him in understanding. Thiago’s hand came to a rest on his lower back, his thumb sneaking under his shirt to rub small circles into his skin. Neymar reached out to run his hand over Thiago’s cheekbone and Thiago closed his eyes, still smiling.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Neymar blurted out in a rush of courage. 

 

Thiago chuckled quietly. “Is this what you needed?” he asked.

 

Probably, but Neymar didn’t want to admit to it. “Can I?” he asked again, quieter.

 

Thiago opened his eyes, leaning his face into Neymar’s palm where it was resting on his cheek. In the soft light, he looked almost cat-like, tongue peeking out to run over plush lips. It was all the invitation Neymar needed.

 

He pressed their mouths together, delighted that Thiago’s lips were as soft as they looked. As soft as he remembered. Thiago let Neymar kiss him for a few heartbeats before he brought his hand up to the nape of his neck and deepened the kiss. His other hand slipped fully under Neymar’s shirt, to lay warm on his back, rubbing against the notches in his spine.

 

Something in Neymar’s chest finally unraveled, his limbs turning liquid and warmth pooling downwards. 

 

“Is this what you needed?” Thiago asked again, soft between soft kisses.

 

“Yes.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was going to do some random short fic to commemorate this WC but I've been sick for like two weeks and miserable about it, so that plan went out the window. Still, I'm hoping I can get at least some ideas written down and out for you to read before the whole thing is over.


End file.
